


If You See Me, Could You Free Me?

by TheFandomLesbian



Series: Angela's Raulson One-Shots [29]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Cuddles, F/F, Fluff, No Smut, foxxay - Freeform, goode-day, raulson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 22:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17455640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFandomLesbian/pseuds/TheFandomLesbian
Summary: Cordelia successfully freed Misty from hell, but she struggles with guilt and uncertainty about her role as Supreme. Misty seeks to help her.





	If You See Me, Could You Free Me?

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt requesting Foxxay cuddles.

“Somedays lonely is not only   
A word, but faces I have known   
And if you see me, could you free me   
With a smile, so I can let go.” -Stevie Nicks, “It’s Only Love”

...

A disturbance in the aura of the house keeps Misty from falling asleep. She can’t place it, exactly, where the unsettled person is, but their vibes leave her unable to rest.  _ I don’t like it in here, _ she thinks as she tiptoes out the side door of the house, closing it quietly behind her. The greenhouse and the outdoor garden bring her peace. She hopes to gain some space for her mind there, away from the troubled soul. 

Misty treks across the yard with bare feet. The grass licks her ankles and sprinkles its dew onto her skin. The drops cling to her long-grown leg hair. The full moon bathes her in silvery light and highlights her skin and her hair. She trots into the darkness of the greenhouse. She doesn’t turn on the light. The blackness, the dim starlight, they mute the sensations of the other auras around her and bathe her in white spirit light. She needs this time alone, she thinks, to recharge. She is a battery, and the moon is the outlet providing her energy. 

She hops onto the table beside her favorite plants, a wreath of violets, and she leaves the door open to gaze out of the greenhouse up at the full moon and the navy sky with all of its distant speckled stars. Footsteps follow hers. She hears them, and then the familiar tingles run down her spine--the unsettled spirit has decided to pursue her. Sitting up straight, she watches the silhouette of a woman cross the yard from the house, a nightgown hanging around her calves. Misty recognizes Cordelia’s figure from the distance. The Supreme doubles over at the middle and hugs herself as if with the chill, though the summer night isn’t incredibly cold. She pads across the overgrown yard toward the greenhouse. Lingering in the doorway, she reaches for the lightswitch. 

Dim yellow light illuminates the room. Cordelia yelps at the sight of Misty, jumping into the air. Misty doesn’t move. “Misty!” Cordelia says, muffling a nervous laugh with her hand. Redness has left rims around her eyes from crying. She closes her eyes tight. “I’m so sorry. You startled me. What are you doing out here?” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.” Misty pushes herself off of the table. “Just looking for some peace of mind. It’s hard to find.” Cordelia nods, not really looking at her. “I didn’t the chance to thank you, proper, for bringing me back. Thank you.” Ever since Cordelia brought her back from hell, she can smell the other souls around her. It makes it more difficult to sleep at night. She’s uncertain if being torn out of Papa Legba’s hands by powerful black magic is a blessing or a curse. 

Cordelia shakes her head. “No, you don’t need to thank me. It was my duty. It was my fault you were gone in the first place.” 

Misty raises her eyebrows. “You really believe that?” Big brown eyes regard her with shock. “I made the decision to cross over. Knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to do it. I chose to do it, anyway, and I paid the price, and you were nice enough to bring me back.” 

“You never would have been put in that position if I had known myself well enough.”

“ _ You _ never would have been put in that position if Fiona had half a brain.” Cordelia snorts a faint laugh. Her caramel colored hair falls past her face in a thick curtain, obscuring her from view, but even in the dim light, Misty notes the melancholy to Cordelia’s gait. She looks slimmer than before, paler, more haggard. “I don’t want you blaming yourself for nothing that happened to me. It was nobody’s fault. It just was. And I’m grateful you gave me a hand.” She follows Cordelia around the greenhouse. Every time she needed rescue, Cordelia came for her. She needed shelter--Cordelia provided. She was trapped--Cordelia freed her. She lost herself in the underworld--Cordelia achieved magic beyond Misty’s comprehension just to win her back. Misty could never forget the sacrifices Cordelia has made for her. But the sadness clings to Cordelia like a skin-tight dress. “Is everything alright?” Misty asks. 

Cordelia hovers over the familiar belladonna plant. She pauses, gazing down at it. “Yes, of course, everything’s fine.” Misty places a hand on the small of her back. Blue eyes bore into Cordelia’s face. Glancing back at her, Cordelia lowers her head as if in defeat. “I’m not sure I’m good at this,” she admits. “Being… Being anything.” Misty’s hand floats on the small of her back. “I was never good at being headmistress. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be better at this, now.”

“You were a great headmistress!” 

Cordelia shakes her head. “No, I wasn’t. I was horrible. I lived under Fiona’s thumb. I was good to you, but--that was it. I didn’t have anything to teach anyone, and I was a terrible teacher. I couldn’t protect the girls. Madison--what happened to her at the frat house, and then with Fiona--Zoe, keeping a boy in the house when  _ nobody knew _ , and Queenie was desperate enough to run away--”

“Hey, hey…” Misty interrupts her. “You can’t blame yourself for any of that. They had to make their own choices, too. Maybe you could’ve done better, but that’s all in the past now.” She reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind Cordelia’s ear so she can see her face better. To her credit, Cordelia doesn’t pull away. “I feel you up all night. You’re thinking loud enough to keep me awake, you know.” Eyes like potted honey meet hers. “Is there a reason you can’t sleep?” 

It’s none of her business, and Cordelia doesn’t need to tell her anything. Cordelia is the Supreme. Misty is just a witch. But tears well in Cordelia’s brown eyes, and as they slide shut, twin tears fall free. “It’s ridiculous.” Misty touches her cheeks with her thumbs to chase away the tears. She waits, not encouraging or discouraging Cordelia. “I--I miss Hank.” Misty’s eyes widen. “I know that sounds stupid--I know he never really loved me, and I only married him because my mother didn’t want me to.” Cordelia rubs her eyes with her fists. “I didn’t love him. I loved the idea of what I thought he could give me--a normal life. But I miss him. The bed is too big to be without another person. It’s too empty. It’s too cold.” More tears slip away, and Misty catches every last one of them with the pads of her thumbs. “He used to spoon me to sleep… God, it’s so stupid.” 

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” 

“It is stupid. I don’t even  _ like _ men.” Cordelia reveals it like stripping off a bandage, and Misty doesn’t react or comment. “I was clinging to him because everything-- _ everything _ \--was changing, and I just wanted something to be the same, even though it wasn’t a good thing.”

“You thought he was your friend. That’s it.” 

“I--I go back and forth. I’m relieved he’s gone, that it’s over…” Misty wonders if Cordelia means to tell her all this, or if it all tumbles from her in her moment of vulnerability from sleep deprivation. “But I miss having someone. Even if it wasn’t the right someone. I miss… being held.” 

Misty hugs her, and Cordelia reciprocates. “I’ll hold you anytime you want,” she says, “just say the word.” She doesn’t think about the implications of her words. If Cordelia does, she doesn’t say anything. She buries her face into Misty’s hair and quivers with tears. Misty strokes her hair and rocks her where they stand in the air. Cordelia needs someone, and Misty is here, right where she wants to be, right where she needs to be. She wants to support her Supreme, but more, she wants to support Cordelia, her friend. Cordelia grabs handfuls of her hair, but she doesn’t pull it. She just clings to her like a liferaft on the tumultuous ocean. 

Cordelia whimpers against Misty’s body until she cries herself dry. Her nightgown fans around Misty’s legs. “Would you really?” she asks. 

“Mhm.” Cordelia’s eyelashes flutter at the confirmation. “I got a sleeping bag out here,” Misty says, “if you want to give a shot.” 

Holding her at arm’s length, Cordelia’s eyes narrow, and she nods. “I--I think I would like that very much.” 

Misty leads her out of the greenhouse, behind the building into the soft tilled dirt where natural flowers have grown up to disguise the nylon sleeping bag. “I’ll spoon you to sleep. Just the way you want.” The moonlight disguises Cordelia’s blush. She sits down on the squishy earth. The dirt clings to her nightgown and pushes up its hem. Misty waits for her to slide into the bag, and then she slithers in after her, their faces inches apart and limbs all tangled up. “Is this nice?” 

Bowing her head forward, Cordelia bumps her nose against Misty’s. “Yes… Very.” She places a hand on Misty’s waist. “Misty?” 

“Yes, Miss Cordelia?” 

“What is… What are you…” Cordelia trails off, and then she tries again. “What am I to you?” 

Misty doesn’t hesitate. “You’re whatever you want to be to me.” With the sleeping bag zipped up around them, she can’t see Cordelia’s face, but she can feel her body thrumming with life and magic and spirit. Cordelia places a palm on her face, inviting her to continue. “You’re my Supreme. You’re my teacher. You’re my best friend.” She nuzzles into the palm with a friendly embrace. “You can be more than that, if you want to be. And if you don’t, I’m happy like this.” 

A warm breath wafts across Misty’s face. “I think I want to be.” 

“You think?”

“Yeah. I do.” Cordelia leans forward, searching with the tip of her nose, and she presses her lips against Misty’s. “Are you sure?” she whispers into Misty’s mouth. Misty nods. Cordelia eases out of the kiss. “Will you spoon me to sleep?”

Misty realizes this is the smallest version of Cordelia she has ever known, the most vulnerable, as she places the tiny request. “Of course, darling.” Cordelia is the Supreme. Misty wants to take care of her the best she can. Cordelia rolls over, and Misty wraps her arms around her and holds her tight, molding her body around Cordelia’s, plaster against an artifact. Misty kisses her neck. The aura isn’t as heavy, now; it’s lighter, happier, relieved of the pressure which had weighed it down. She can close her eyes and relax without wondering about the worrywart down the hall. As Cordelia wriggles back against her, happiness shivers off of her, however fleeting. No room remains between their bodies. “Do you like this? The crickets?” 

Cordelia’s foot brushes up against hers and rubs against her leg. “I do…” She hums a happy sound at the way Misty’s hand caresses her abdomen, and she places her own hand over it. “Thank you, Misty. I don’t deserve you.” 

“You deserve the whole world, duckweed. Don’t you forget it.” 


End file.
